Booming thunder echoes from the western isle where Mhaldor reigns, and the blood-red fog surrounding the city of Evil rises in clouds that ascend higher and higher into the heavens.

Upon the sanguine tableau, the image of Shaitan, God of Oppression, is reflected in unadulterated clarity. Every muscle in His hulking form is tensed, and His fists clench and unclench as He suffers some bitter torment.

Sinuous coils of foul black vapour twist and whip through the fog, fermenting into a wild storm that scourges the God of Oppression and flays the crimson of His skin like flesh from bone.

Daemons howl from the depths of the Inferno as Shaitan gives a terrible bellow.

For a fleeting instant, the God upon the clouds is overcome by the chilling guise of the fallen God Apollyon.

Relentlessly the fog itself tears at Shaitan, who roars across the skies with unhindered fury. The preternatural storm above the western isle reaches a frenzied climax, and tortuous thunder shakes the firmament.

With a sudden cry, Shaitan clasps His hands to His horns, wrenching downward and doubling over, all colour draining from His form.

Trembling clouds flee the sky, and the world holds its breath as the figure above the western horizon crouches, unmoving.

Slowly the ashen figure rises, raising His head to gaze across the world with a cruel scowl.

Rumbling through the firmament, a low voice utters, "So have We endured. And so have We been made stronger."

Thousands of daemons howl and shriek as Sartan, the Malevolent roars above the cacophony, "Hide while you can, Pentharian, for you and the cowards you indulge will be crushed under My heel like the worms you are."